Drivin' a race car is my way of makin' a livin'My way of puttin' the bread on the table at homeI'm gettin' back about half as much as I'm givin'And I couldn't make it without a good woman at home

First Place could be just a dream, but I'm gonna chase itFinishin' out of the "Top Ten" is nothin' but badIn a "junker", won't ever be first, I might as well face itFirst Class equipment is somethiing a man's got to have

You might even call me a twentieth century drifterThirty-two week-ends, I load up the car and I'm goneAnd my woman cries with each "good-bye" kiss that I give herAnd she prays that come Monday mornin', I'll be driftin' home

Well, my woman sleeps in my arms and I lie here thinkin'Half awake, half asleep, I run and re-run the raceFrom Dark until dawn, it goes on, my half-awake dreamin'And every so often, I dream that I'm takin' First Place

But it's got to be more than a dream - dreamin' won't make itAw, dreamin' won't ever put bread on the table at homeAnd racin' runs deep in my veins. I'll never shake itI'm tied to it just like I'm tied to that woman at home

You might even call me a twentieth century drifterThirty-two week-ends, I load up the car and I'm goneAnd my woman cries with each "good-bye" kiss that I give herAnd she prays that come Monday mornin', I'll be driftin' home